Journey
by Horatia
Summary: I flipped through the dictionary, picked out random words, and wrote small NorringtonNorribeth vignettes with them.  Warning: Fic contains things from all three movies.  Disclaimer: POTC belongs to Disney.
1. Chapter 1

**Apology. **

The difference between Elizabeth and James was the manner in which they made apologies. James made them often, and most of the time they were not necessary. His voice, normally a rich, silken baritone that polished every syllable deliberated over in his mind before he let them flow from his mouth, transfigured itself into a quiet, muddled mess of excuses and "I-never-intendeds."

Elizabeth made them rarely. When she did feel the person she had wronged deserved an apology, she made them quickly, with "I-never-meant-tos" and "I-didn't-realizes." She never looked the person in the eye—it was a difficult thing to do when she told a lie. That was before James. She'd wronged him so many times. She repressed her guilt, fearing she would break if she let it surface. Sometimes, she wanted to throw herself at his feet, beg his forgiveness, spill out every remorseful feeling that weighed her down, that kept her awake when the night descended and morning could not come soon enough. She knew that even with a simple "I'm sorry," he would forgive all her wrongs and forget every fault. In this knowledge, she determined that she never could and never would look at him with regret in her eyes. It was just too hard.

"It is too late to earn my forgiveness," she spat at him.

"I had nothing to do with your father's death," he said firmly before his expression was corrupted with remorse," but that does not absolve me of my other sins."

"Come with us."

_I'm so sorry, James._

**Blood.**

James arms and legs burned as he pulled his sword away from the pirate. Momentarily blinded from battling the cursed creature, he was taken off guard by the sudden silence aboard the _Dauntless_. The ship was still, as if all who had been fighting were frozen in time. James looked back at the pirate. The figure before him was no longer a skeleton, and, with his face twisted in pain, a final grunt escaped his throat as he fell to the deck.

He looked down at his sword. The metal glistened in the moonlight, coated with bright red blood. James, recovering from the surprise of the sudden and silent victory, looked to his left. There stood another pirate, weapon raised, eyes wide at seeing his companion's blood on the blade of the Navy dog's sword. The great James Norrington, scourge of piracy, put the point of his sword at his throat. The pirate, fearing for his life, dropped his weapon.

There was clink of metal as the pirates all dropped their weapons in defeat. James could feel his men looking at him, anticipating whatever word was going to come from his mouth.

"The ship is ours, gentleman."

Marines and sailors, scattered about on the ship celebrated their victory, but James couldn't hear them.

He had defeated the cursed vermin.

He had fulfilled his future wife's wish.

His Elizabeth was safe, and all he could think of was holding her.

James Norrington was invincible.

**Comparitive.**

Elizabeth stood at the bow of the _Dauntless_. She closed her eyes against the sun. The light refused to go, making the inside of her eyelids a warm orange. The wind blew through her hair, and she thought of Will. He had been put to work somewhere aboard the ship, conveniently far away from her. She loved him so.

He and Norrington were so different. Will was brave and reckless and true. James was no doubt brave, but he didn't have that ferocity that Will did. He was cold and cautious and followed the law. He was a stone that could not be broken, that could not feel real emotions, only halfheartedly simulated the simplest ones, that could not break free and . . . . _live_. She turned and saw him standing behind her a few yards away. His hands were clasped behind his back, his eyes trained on the sailors that were before him. He looked up, as if he had felt her presence. His face was made of stone. She turned away before he had been able to break his commanding veneer. She missed the smile that had spread over his face when he realized that she had been looking at him, not Turner, who was sitting beside the stairs, mending sails.

She sighed and wondered if she could ever be happy married to a stone. He would keep her safe, she knew that. He would be kind to her and give her a comfortable home. She suspected he did care for her in some way. After all, her father did say he fancied her, and she knew Norrington confided in her father, as if he was his own. Whatever it was, it wasn't love. Not love like Will's. Norrington would cherish his wife. Will would cherish his Elizabeth.

_His. Will's._

She belonged to Will and he to her. For a moment, she felt a pang of guilt in her heart, knowing that rejecting Norrington would break his heart. This feeling was soon gone when she told herself that she would be breaking his _pride_, not his heart. The man had none, and Will had hers.

Norrington is a noble man, she reasoned. A righteous man, at least, and he would no doubt choose to damage his own pride rather than break her heart. She knew he would not understand her decision, no one would. The society she lived in did not understand love—the selflessness of it, the sacrifice it required, the pain that it could cause. She did. She smiled. The commodore had given her a choice, but, suddenly, she realized she had none.

**Dissolution.**

Commodore Norrington had been in the parlor with her father for awfully long time. She knew not what they were talking about, only that he had come to her door with a letter in his hand. She had curtsied when he entered, and he attempted a bow. Something was terribly wrong-- his knuckles were white around the letter he held, and his green eyes were bloodshot and filled with anxiety. Her father seemed to sense it to and directed him into the parlor. Worried and now alone in the hall, Elizabeth returned to the library to continue sketching her gown for her upcoming wedding.

When she heard the door to the parlor creak open, she looked around. Through the door, she saw Commodore Norrington, standing alone as her father walked away, clearly displeased.

"Commodore!" she shouted as his hand touched the knob of the front door. He visibly winced before he turned back to her.

She stood, putting her sketch down. "Please, do stay for a moment."

Reluctantly, he entered the library. She ushered him over to a chair, and when he insisted he should be getting home, she adamantly refused to let him. She would figure out what was wrong.

He was silent as he sat down. This would be harder than she thought. In attempt to start a conversation, she handed him her sketches.

"My wedding dress, Commodore. I've nearly finished designing it."

He took it in his hands, looked at it silently. Anxious, she spoke again.

"I was thinking of white flowers, something simple."

He continued to look at the sketch, and finally spoke when he handed it back to her. "Simple is usually best. I'm sure it will be beautiful."

Happy that she'd gotten that much out of him, she continued, "I was going to tell you next week, but I guess this is as good a time as any. . . I—we—Will and I were hoping you would be our best man."

He seemed thoroughly upset by this. "I regret to inform you, Miss Swann, that I will not be able to attend your wedding."

Elizabeth was shocked. "Why not?"

He stood, "I'm going to be doing some traveling."

She stood as moved towards the door. "You've got an assignment with the Navy? Is that what this is all about? How far away are they sending you?"

"No, Miss Swann, I'm afraid not," he said, firmly. "I've resigned from the Navy."

"Resigned?" It was as if her eyes had been opened. "Is it because of the hurricane?"

"I'm afraid it is."

"That's not worth giving up your job! You mad one mistake. . . ."

"That cost hundreds of lives," he said. "It's unforgivable. It would be better for everyone if I simply left. Good-bye, Miss Swann."

He walked quickly over to the front door, and she chased after him.

"Wait!"

"Miss Swann. . . ."

"That's it, then? You're just running away? We'll never see each other again?"

"I'm sure I will see you again," he said, opening the door.

_That means yes_, she thought.

Her anger was written on her face. She could not believe that he would leave this way, in such a cowardly manner.

Before she could think, she shouted, "So you're not even going to wish Will and I well?"

He turned from the door back to her, his eyes burning with anger.

"I doubted you would remember, Miss Swann," he said, his voice barley above a whisper. "I already have."

And he left the Swann mansion, taking off his blue coat as he walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Encroach.**

James had been watching them since they had boarded the _Black Pearl_. He did not like the interaction between them. He did not like it at all. Sparrow filled every childhood fantasy in her naïve little head, and he had charmed her into believing every word that came out of his mouth. He led her around like a puppy, and all because he was what Elizabeth had always wanted to be—a pirate. Yes, she would deny that she wanted anything to do with him if she was asked, but the moment you would accept her answer, she would smile to herself, thinking she had fooled you, which made her even more like the great Captain Jack.

It surprised her when she saw the dark blue coat in the corner of her eye. She had thought him elsewhere on the ship, put to some useless task by Ja—Captain Sparrow. She hadn't thought he'd been just right there, hearing every word she'd said.

"It's a curious thing," he said, and she was snapped out of her thoughts, "there was a time when I would have given anything for you to look that while thinking about me."

She turned. He was smiling, bitterly, and it frustrated her immensely. Not knowing what else to do, she turned, pushing aside all thoughts of Captain Sparrow.

"I don't know what you mean," she said, trying her hardest not to show her anger.

"Oh, I think you do," he taunted. Nothing had changed. He still understood her in a way she did not, a way that made her feel childish. She had come to save to Will, the love of her life, not to go gallivanting after pirates. . . .

"Don't be ridiculous. I trust him, that's all."

And he laughed. Truly, she couldn't remember the last time she'd heard him laugh, but she knew it certainly wouldn't have been like that. He ambled away, his eyebrows raised. She relaxed a little, thinking he had finally left her in some peace, but just as she thought he was gone, he turned back around to face her.

"And you never wondered how your _latest_ fiancée ended up on the _Flying Dutchman_ in the first place?"

The accusation had stunned her, and she couldn't find anything to say back to him. He shook his head, disapprovingly and stepped away with a final arch of his brows. Thoroughly embarrassed, she pulled the compass from her belt. _I need to find Will_, she thought. Opening the compass, she saw that the needle was not spinning. It was indicating a single direction. Following the red tip, she looked to where it was pointing. There stood Captain Sparrow, gazing out at the sea with his spyglass, master of its waves. Tears stung the back of her eyes, and she shut the lid of the compass quickly. At that moment, she wished that the compass had pointed to anyone but who it was currently pointing to. Anyone —even James.

**Fly-by-night.**

It was the breeze fluttering in from the window that woke James from his slumber. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes to the gentle blue-white light flooding his bedchamber. James hated having the window in his room open. This was the one place where he could shut out the world, to leave the smells and sounds of the piers behind. Wondering how he could have overlooked one of the servant's errors, he slid out from between the sheets. The floor beneath was cold and hard, not at all pleasant compared to his warm bed. He shuffled over to the window, his green eyes still filled with sleep. He stuck his head out, taking in the stillness of his estate, and, deciding that there was no threat, let the window down.

He did not expect to see the dark figure, sitting on the far side of the room. In an instant, he wrenched open the drawer of his bedside table and pulled a dust-covered pistol from it. Fully awake, he took his aim at the silhouette.

"Come out where I can see you," he said, evenly.

"'Lo, there, Commodore," said the figure, unmoving.

James recognized the voice immediately. Pistol still trained on its target, he lit the candle beside his bed, illuminating the tanned, smirking face of Captain Sparrow.

"No need to be hostile, Commodore. 'S no harm in me droppin' by to see me fav'rite Navy dog, 's there?" said the pirate, propping his feet up on the desk he sat next to.

"Captain Sparrow, if it is your intention to rob me blind, please do so quickly. They'll expect me to have a reason for having shot you."

Sparrow crossed his arms, his brow furrowing in his mock disapproval. "Now tha's no way to treat a gues', is it?"

James was unmoved. "Feet off the desk, Sparrow."

The pirate quickly removed his boot-clad feet from the table, brushing the dirt they had left off the commodore's papers. James lowered his pistol and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Now, might I ask why you have broken into my home in the middle of the night?"

Sparrow lifted himself off the seat and (James could think of no other word for it) _pranced _over to the bureau where he grabbed up the commodore's hat and placed it upon his head.

"For your information, Commodore, I did not break into your 'ome. Tha' window's comple'ly intact," he said with a flourish of his hands to indicate the unbroken glass.

James glanced over to the window as Sparrow inspected himself in the mirror. Indeed, the window was not even smudged.

"Well, I congratulate you, Sparrow. You are actually capable of not destroying everything in your path."

The pirate tossed the hat back onto its stand and turned around to face Norrington.

"I take offense to tha', Commodore, and I'm goin' ta pretend I heard a 'Captain' 'n there."

"Sparrow. . . Captain Sparrow, why are you here. I've given you a second chance. A wise man would take advantage of that."

"As I very clearly sta'ed b'fore, sir, I came by ta see me fav'rite Navy dog."

"For what reason, Captain? Have you come to thank me?"

The pirate pushed his brows together and plopped onto the window sill. "Of course not!"

James pursed his lips, wanting very much to push him right out onto the hedges below. "Then have you come to apologize to me?"

Once Sparrow turned his attention away from whatever he was picking out of his teeth, he shot Norrington a look and replied, "'F I was plannin' on apologizin' I woulda broke ye window."

"Captain Sparrow, as much as I am enjoying our conversation, I would like to get my rest so I can get you to the gallows before dinner tomorrow."

Sparrow hopped up off the window. "Fine, if ye're wantin' me to leave so quickly, I'll tell ye."

Norrington stood up and walked over to straighten his hat that was perched precariously on its stand. "What is it then?"

Sparrow spread his arms wide as if to embrace the commodore. "I came ta wish ye luck, o' course!"

Thoroughly annoyed, James grimaced at the pirate, wiping away the smile that was plastered on his face.

"Captain Sparrow, kindly remove yourself from my room."

Sparrow arms dropped down to his side, and he tilted backward, drunkenly. "Well, aren' ye gonna wish me the same?"

"Captain, the only thing I would wish you is syphilis."

Sparrow's face slipped even further. "So me fav'rite Navy dog wouldn' e'en wish me a quick death?"

"If it were legal to strangle you with my cravat, I would."

"Well, I believe me affection for ye's wained jus' a bit."

"Good," said James, lifting his pistol again.

"Now, rest your lil' wigless head, your Commodoreness. I'm takin' me leave."

James raised his pistol at Sparrow. The pirate tossed himself out onto the tree limb alongside the window, somehow managing to gather his own flailing limbs under him to climb down.

"'F you'll excuse me, Commodore. . . .I wish ye luck. And Heav'n bless the day, ye use yer fancy attire to strangle the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow!"

By this time, James was dearly missing his bed and decided the best way to return to it was to shoot the limb the captain was holding onto. With a yelp, the pirate landed on the ground below. James peered out to see if he was injured and was quite dismayed when he saw Sparrow scampering his way off of his estate.

"Still rooting for you, mate!"

James could not help smiling.

**Get.**

The night was unbearably silent. It was impossible for James to sit still. He walked through the house, jumping at every movement, every creak of the floor. He looked out every window, as if he were expecting an intruder. All the while, his fingers fumbled over the small box in his hand.

He stopped in the dining room and opened the box. The stone glittered in the moonlight, sitting atop the golden band. He took it out, handling it with care, fearing it might break under his fingers. It seemed so small in his large hands. He had noticed before how delicate Elizabeth's hands were, but he never imagined that they could be so tiny that a ring made for them would not slip much further than the first knuckle on his smallest finger.

He held it up, letting the moonlight fluttering in through the window shine on it. It sparkled brilliantly, but for some reason, the stone had seemed bigger when he had purchased it. He frowned. What if the stone was too small? He had always imagined her holding out her hand, showing it off when they announced the engagement. What if she was unimpressed by it, embarrassed that the commodore, who was certainly not in want of money, had bought her the most unappealing ring he could find?

He sighed and, running a hand through his brown hair, decided to go back to bed. Climbing the stairs to his bedroom, he winced, wishing the creaking beneath his feet wasn't so loud. His bed had grown cold in his absence. He placed the ring back into its box and sat it on his night stand. Even when he had grown warm under the sheets, he found it no less difficult to sleep.

Worry kept his eyes from closing, and he tossed and turned, the image of Elizabeth's disappointed face floating in front of him. Forcing himself to think of something positive, he remembered the smile she'd given him when he had joined the Swanns for dinner a fortnight ago. He'd known then that he wanted to make her his wife. A little comforted by the thought, he pictured the slight sneer that had passed over her face when Mrs. Finch had leaned over to have her wine glass filled, hitting three or four people in the face with the mass of feathers she wore on her head. Elizabeth is not so vain, he reasoned. She would not mind if the ring was smaller than most. Perhaps, she would even appreciate him more for it.

His shoulders relaxed a bit. He had not realized how tense they were. He turned back to the nightstand and took the box into his hand. Opening it, he smiled as it caught the light. He took it, still smiling, and placed it upon his smallest finger, forcing it down as far as it would go and curling the finger so that it would not slip off. He then turned on his side, facing the empty space beside him. Carefully, he pulled back the sheets on that side and moved the pillow closer to him. Almost able to sense her there, he laid his hand on the pillow. The ring was still there, smiling back at him with a glimmer slightly less brilliant than Miss Swann's. He sighed, feeling his lids close. By the sea, he thought as he surrendered to his weariness. Yes, tomorrow, he would propose to her by the sea.

And his eyes closed, a light still shimmering there. A shimmer he knew did not, could not, have come from the ring or even from the ocean. . . .

**Harmless.**


End file.
